


unwrap me (underneath the christmas tree)

by remuspolaris (risolyandiwys)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risolyandiwys/pseuds/remuspolaris
Summary: “I’m not going to do this all by myself,” Cordelia teases. And although her eyes twinkle with mischief, she’s serious as she reaches for the hands on her thighs and lifts them to kiss each palm. “I want you to unwrap me, baby.”So Misty does.// in which there’s only one thing misty wants to see underneath the christmas tree.





	unwrap me (underneath the christmas tree)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lettertotheworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertotheworld/gifts).



> written for a new friend. merry christmas.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ remuspolaris
> 
> p.s. i had to make slight and not-so-slight changes and fix a few typos.

_i._

It feels like a dream.

When it should by all accounts be a nightmare as it has been so many times before, there is nothing about _this_ that makes Misty feel unsafe. As her eyes catch the crimson ribbon curled around pale wrists, held in surrender above a crown of golden hair, her mouth descends and no—this is no nightmare. The chill of winter air ghosts over her skin, slick with sweat, leaves goosebumps in its wake. She trembles and so does the body beneath her—it writhes and arches and the ribbon breaks, and the taste left on her tongue and around her mouth is one she wants to share. So she slowly crawls upward and fingertips splay out against her face and a thumb brushes her lips, and the words being spoken to her, low and heated, are what forces a groan to claw its way out of her throat.

“Misty, it’s okay. You’re here,” she hears, and it’s… _so_ not what expects. “You’re safe.”

It’s comforting and it calls to her, beckons her elsewhere and she doesn’t want to leave the this sacred space where the smell of pine fills the air and the skin beneath her reflects the myriad of colors shining down on them and—

“You were having another nightmare,” Cordelia says, and— _no_. No, she wasn’t. “Your magic was reaching out for me.”

 _Oh_.

“I’m alright, Delia,” Misty mumbles, her throat dry as she tries to speak. “But I think I need to get some air.”

And before Cordelia can nod in acknowledgement, Misty notices that she looks thoroughly shaken in the dim lighting of the room, and then she is out of bed and taking quiet steps down hallway and avoiding the one stair that always creaks underfoot and then she is stepping outside into the night.

Snow is falling but she doesn’t even mind the chill as she finds support in a pillar while she watches the ground steadily disappear under a layer of white. She’s overheated anyway. The images her unconscious mind conjured are still flashing before her eyes, and she knows she needs to calm down before she can go back inside the house and pretend that she is alright.

Because she isn’t. She hasn’t been alright for a while now, since her return from hell, where there had for a long time been flashes of her time in that cold and cruel classroom. And now she’s healing but there’s this thing, this—whatever the _fuck_ this is.

And, sure, she’s known from the beginning that there has always been something simmering just below the surface of her relationship with Cordelia. And while she’s been under the impression that it’s been completely one-sided, she thinks sometimes that maybe it’s not, that the little touches and soft smiles directed at her might have some other intent behind them, and that… well, that clearly has to be her projecting. She knows it. She _knows_ it and that’s why she’s not ever going to put into words how she feels.

“Misty?”

If she didn’t already recognize the voice softly calling out for her, and she hadn’t anticipated Cordelia following her out into the night, she would know simply by the magic reaching out to her. It’s instinct, Misty thinks, for the other woman to reach for her—and it’s an action that Misty intentionally returns, though it’s never her intention to allow the quiet sound of pleasure that falls from her lips as the tendrils of her magic weaves through that of Cordelia’s.

“I’m sorry for runnin’ out on you like that,” Misty says quietly. “I needed some air.”

When she receives only a hum in response, Misty turns her head and feels her breath catch in her throat—the plush throw blanket that had been sitting on the edge of her bed is now wrapped around Cordelia’s shoulders, her hair is messy, and the moonlight is casting its glow over her face. She’s beautiful.

“I’ll be goin’ back in soon. You don’t have to stay out here with me.”

“You know,” Cordelia says in response, seemingly ignoring her words. “I decided to cancel classes for the rest of the week. The girls will leaving soon for the holidays, and I want them to have the chance to enjoy the snow while it lasts, considering _this_ never happens.”

She makes a small gesture to the lawn in front of them, the green that would normally be visible now completely covered.

“I never expected we’d have a white Christmas,” Misty says. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” Cordelia says softly, and turns to meet Misty’s eyes. Then she asks, “Come with me?”

And Misty nods, allows herself to be lead by the hand back inside the house and back up the stairs and down the hallway to a different bedroom than the one she had fled from several minutes before. Misty stands just inside the room as Cordelia closes and locks the door behind her, and drapes the blanket she’d been holding over the back of a chair.

“Lay with me,” Cordelia requests, though it’s more of a gentle command as she stands in front of Misty. Her hands find both of Misty’s and their fingers slide between the other’s, and one eyebrow is raised almost in challenge.

And all Misty can do is jerk her head up and down, and she somehow manages a choked _okay_ before Cordelia is tugging her forward to the bed. Misty watches Cordelia slip beneath silk sheets and a comforter and then Misty settles into the empty space beside her. She doesn’t expect the messy hair that tickles her chin or the weight of a head in the crook of her arm, resting on her chest. Nor does she expect her arm to be lifted and pulled around, adjusted so she is holding Cordelia to her.

One of Cordelia’s arms is pinned beneath her own head, Misty can feel a ring digging into her skin, and she doesn’t care about that—not when Cordelia is dipping her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, drawing nonsensical designs on her bare stomach. Misty’s stomach quivers beneath the light touch.

“Zoe suggested having a movie day sometime next week with the other girls. I was hoping you’d be willing to join us for that,” Cordelia says casually, as though she isn’t stealing the very breath from Misty’s lungs with her touch. “We were thinking about going and getting a tree too, but I was wondering if you might be able to take care of that.”

“Uh, yeah. I can get us a tree,” Misty manages. She thinks of the plants around her swamp, the seeds she nurtured to be fully grown in just a few minutes. Growing a Christmas tree shouldn’t be _too_ difficult. Maybe.

Misty feels her heart pound heavily in her chest as Cordelia plays with the fingers of her hand, the one that she has been trying to keep deathly still as it rested on her friend’s waist. And when those fingers brush over the back of her hand, stroke her palm and then finally slide between her own and stay there, Misty feels her breath catch once more and she actually feels dizzy and—

“I’d love to watch movies with you,” she finally answers. “It sounds fun. I can’t wait.”

And the quiet hum of delight that meets her ears makes warmth blossom in her chest, and she prays to any higher power that will listen that Cordelia can’t hear the frantic organ trying to burst from its confines just below the skin where her head lies. It all feels too good to be true, it feels like a dream, and she doesn’t want to wake up and have one of the other girls standing over her, shaking the fragments of this moment from her as she has so many times before.  


_ii._

_“It’s you that will end in flames. I swear it!”_

The first time her life had been taken from her, it had been her gift of resurgence that revived her. The flames of hell had licked at her skin—had devoured her whole, really—and then it had spit her back out. What it had left behind had been nothing less than horrifying—a figure that was burned beyond recognition, white hot pain emanating from every single atom that made her who she was. The process of recreating herself physically had her crying out in agony as she submerged herself in the cool mud of a swamp, and when she managed to pull herself out, her appearance was what it once was but she was irrevocably changed by it.

There was a part of her that had been taken by the flames. Flames of hellfire, she remembers, that were ignited by those she had called her friends and family. After, her only friends were the plants growing near her shack, and the gators and small critters would would often find their way to her. The isolation she found herself in wasn’t exactly desirable, but it had been enough. She was terribly hurt and alone and aching and it had been enough but then—

Then she had been drawn to a desperate girl called Zoe who was trying to save a broken and mismatched boy called Kyle, and she had done all she could to put him back together again and then they had left her all alone.

And then, suddenly, she wasn’t alone. She was helping a woman who had suffered in the same way she had and then the two of them were fleeing the swamp and she had been offered refuge with others just like her.

_You’re Misty Day! You were set on fire and left for dead._

No, suddenly she was taking the outstretched hand of a sightless witch between both of her own, and the magic that had interacted with her own was warm and inviting. It was intoxicating and it left her reeling and breathless and _wanting._

_Whatever troubles you had, they are ours now. You’re under the protection of this coven. This is your house._

It was at the very moment she knew she had found what she had been searching for her whole life.

Of course, she had been buried alive and she had died and then brought back, which was not the first time she’d died but she had hoped it would be the last, but for the first time in her life she was welcomed and protected and was learning what it meant to be her very best self and _she had found her tribe_ —and then she was gone.

She was gone for eons upon eons, an entire eternity, stuck in the loop of death and revival. It was the perfect hell for someone like her, someone who valued the lives of animals and nature, and used her abilities only to heal. Someone who was not out for revenge, but would not hesitate to do what was right when evil acts were done.

And then, there was Nan with the Voodoo Demon standing tall just behind her and she was freed from her eternal prison and guided home—not to her shack, but directly to Cordelia, who could only stare at her in wonder even as Misty nearly threw herself into Cordelia’s arms.

The hands that cradled her head and curled around her, holding her to the woman she’d missed for so long, were solid and she knew in that moment she was really here, really walking among the living once again.

But, she thought then and still wonders now sometimes, how long until the cycle repeats itself?

How long until she is torn from her tribe and thrust right back into that darkness?

Perhaps it is the feeling that all of this could be taken from her at any moment that has Misty feeling the way she does—about the direction her life is heading in, what she wants out of her life—this life that feels like a collection of fleeting moments that she is trying so hard to hold on to but can’t seem to grasp fully.

Things haven’t been the same since her return from hell. She hasn’t been the same, and while she knows progress is being made—knows the nightmares have dwindled to once or twice a week, and the sight of a knife doesn’t always make her stomach churn or bile rise in the back of her throat, and that her ability to heal and grow and call on her magic easily is slowly coming back to her—it still feels like she has a long way to go.

 _Perhaps_ too _long_ , Misty thinks to herself as she stares at the pot on the table in front of her. She sits on a stool with her back straight and holds her hands above it, doesn’t dare lower them to dig her fingers into the soil, because she is trembling and she’s not sure what she’ll end up doing if she tries to coax the seed into growth. Her magic is unpredictable at best these days, but she doesn’t want to back down, doesn’t want to give in to everything trying to _keep_ her down.

“Oh, goddamnit. _Fuck_ ,” Misty curses and drops her hands into her lap, feels them curl into fists against her thighs.

And suddenly, without warning, without a single thought as to her actions, she lifts one arm and makes a wild sweeping motion, the pot flying to the ground where it shatters. The broken pieces sit in a pile of soil and Misty rests her elbows on the table, drops her head into her hands and squeezes her eyes shut. Her shoulders slump and she tries to curl in on herself, feels her face flush with shame at what she’s just done.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, feels guilt course through her. She refuses to look at the mess on the floor, knows she’ll feel sick to her stomach at the sight of it. So, she simply speaks to it, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you… but I can’t fix you. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

She takes a deep breath and stands from the stool, and kneels on the ground in front of the pot and soil and there, in the middle of it all, is the seed. She picks it up and holds it in her hands and—that’s when she feels it. A familiar thrum, warm and light, reaching out for her, _searching_ for her.

She ignores it.

She pushes it away and tries to hold herself together. Waves a hand and tries to put the pieces of the pot back together and the soil inside of it, but the pieces that stick together are mismatched and she knows she’s screwed up.

“I need help,” she says with a sigh. She can hear the soft footsteps behind her, though she doesn’t turn toward them even as they come to a stop beside her. Instead she repeats, this time with a hint of desperation lacing her words, “I need help.”

As Cordelia kneels across from her, on the other side of the mess she’d made, she waves a hand and Misty watches as the pot rearranges itself seamlessly, and the soil that sits spilled all around it follows shortly after. Misty looks from the pot to her hands where the seed and the remaining soil are, and holds them toward Cordelia.

“Put the seed into the soil,” Cordelia says gently, unwilling to take that which is being offered to her. At the objections beginning to come from Misty, she speaks again, her voice more firm as she says, “Put the seed into the soil, and I will help you.”

Misty stares at her for several moments, feels the corners of her lips tug downward before she relents and does as Cordelia requested. She buries the seed into the soil and covers it. As she moves to withdraw her hands, unwilling to cause more harm than she already has, Cordelia reaches out and keeps them hovering above the pot. As she turns her own hands over, her fingers tickle Misty’s palms momentarily. At the twitch of Misty’s fingers caused by her actions, Cordelia lightly grabs her fingers and adjusts their hands so they are palm to palm, each finger aligned with its counterpart, and then her fingers sliding effortlessly through Misty’s.

“You can do this, my love,” she says gently, her eyes meeting Misty’s as she speaks. Her eyes fall to where her right hand is joined with Misty’s left. “I want you to keep your hand in mine, and we’ll do this together, okay?”

Misty nods and as soon as Cordelia releases her other hand, she digs her fingertips into the soil. She tries not to take much from Cordelia, tries not to rely on her magic, but she feels her own magic drawing her in and _god_ , she wouldn’t be able to stop herself if she tries. If simply feeling Cordelia’s magic from a distance sparks something inside of her, then the connection they share as Misty pours her magic into the seed is a wildfire—one she has no chance of putting out, she knows, as her eyes roll into the back of her head and _fuck,_ who knew magic could ever feel quite like this?

And then, almost as suddenly as her magic began to flow into the seed and the soil surrounding it, it begins to taper off and she lets it fade. Sweat is gathered on her forehead and her eyes are squeezed shut, and her shoulders rise and fall unevenly as she tries to catch her breath.

“I think…” Cordelia starts, and starts to move away from the plant and to Misty’s side without letting their connection break. “I think you should open your eyes now.”

The awe in her voice is what makes Misty open her eyes, and where there had been nothing but a small seed, there was seven feet of bright green pine standing tall among the smaller plants that filled the greenhouse.

“It’s beautiful,” Cordelia says. Her thumb runs over Misty’s as she turns her head to smile at her, and her dark eyes are bright as they meet ocean blue. “I knew you could do it.”

Misty wants to tell her that she is grateful for what she’s done for her, wants to tell her that she couldn’t possibly have done it without her, she doesn’t. Instead, she stares up at the top of the tree and bites back a sigh, and thinks that she could’ve held back a bit. Because, really, it’s massive.

“How are we gonna get this in the house?”

_iii._

“A little to the left... no, your _other_ left... actually, wait. I think...”

“I think you better tell us where to put this damn tree before—”

Whatever words would have left Queenie’s mouth die in her throat as the tree straightens itself, and the look of relief on her face is clearly visible as she turns to where Misty sits on the couch with a mug in her hands and a blanket over her lap, looking like she hadn’t just straightened the tree out with the wave of her hand.

“Perfect,” Zoe says and the eye roll she receives from Madison as she releases the tree is one that everyone watching can see holds no malice whatsoever.

“Jesus… maybe try for a smaller tree next time, swampy,” Madison hisses and wipes her hands on her pants. “Fuck this tree. I’m not decorating it.”

Misty watches as Madison leaves the room and heads in the direction of the kitchen. Even with sharp words capable of cutting someone down, Madison is softer these days. Words that were once weapons, their only intent to destroy and dismantle, are now just a defense mechanism, a way of coping with what has happened to her. Though she’s never shared it with anyone else, she once told Misty that it’s her prolonged visit to hell that took most of the venom out of her. Now it’s just a way of holding on to who she used to be, and Misty understands that better than anyone else.

“Thanks, girl,” Queenie says, acknowledges her assistance with the tree. “You just saved a life.”

“Now that we’ve got the tree situated, it’s movie time. We’ll be back with some snacks. Do you need anything from the kitchen?” Zoe asks and when Misty shakes her head in response, she follows the same path Madison had only moments before, and Queenie follows close behind her.

As silence fills the spaces they left behind, Misty sets her mug on the coffee table and relaxes back into the couch. With her back tucked in the corner where the armrest meets the back of the couch, she bends one leg and leans it against the back of the couch while the other sits flat against the floor. She covers upper half with her blanket as she looks at her tree, which had only just been moved into the main room now that the girls were gone for the holiday break—they’d had to wait to move it, the risk of harm coming to it too great in the presence of young girls with loose control over their abilities. It really is beautiful, and shows no sign of drying out since she’d grown it over a week ago.

“Are they done?”

Misty tilts her head back and feels her lips turn up into a smile as Cordelia looks down at her with a smile of her own.

“They’re done,” Misty confirms, eyes following Cordelia as she moves around the couch to sit in the space between her legs. “They’re getting some snacks, and they’ll be back.”

“I thought they’d never finish,” Cordelia says with a sigh and leans back into Misty, shifting only to pull the blanket she’d been using from behind her to cover the both of them.

“You…” Misty narrows her eyes as she considers the other woman’s words. “You took your sweet time finishing up that paperwork so that I’d be the one to supervise them, didn’t you?”

Cordelia doesn’t answer, but Misty can see where her tongue is pressed to her cheek and she knows she is trying not to smile. 

“I can’t believe you.”

“Are you really that surprised?” Cordelia asks with a grin. Then her she plucks at Misty’s sleeve and asks, “Is this my sweater?”

Misty shrugs and feels her face warm, though she feels no shame. “It might be mine now,” she teases. “It smells like you. It makes me feel warm… and safe.”

“Then it’s yours,” Cordelia says, her grin falling into a soft smile. “What are we watching first?”

“It’s A Wonderful Life,” says Zoe as she enters the room once more with Queenie and Madison behind her. “After this, I thought we could decorate the tree and then put on another one.”

They are carrying food and mugs of their own, and set all of it on the coffee table. Queenie sits on a chair to the side of the couch while Zoe and Madison, rather than occupy the other furniture around the room, sit with their backs to the couch and their legs outstretched under the coffee table. Misty lifts her leg to avoid it being laid on and effectively surrounds Cordelia, who doesn’t seem to mind whatsoever.

“Let’s get this bitch started,” Madison says and takes control of the remote, pulls the movie up on the television and starts it.

As soon as she does so, she sets the remote down and sits back against the couch, and seems to relax further as Zoe leans into her and rests her head on her shoulder. Cordelia turns her head to meet Misty’s eyes, her own wide as she motions wordlessly with her head to the two girls in front of them. Misty raises her eyebrows and shrugs, and stifles a smile as she turns her attention to the television. It doesn’t last long though, as Cordelia whispers her name.

“What’s this movie about?”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“No. Fiona never really… encouraged this kind of thing. Holidays, tradition, or spending time with family… you know. And Hank was never one for celebrating the holiday, so... it’s nice to take part in this with all of you.”

“The movie’s about a man named George Bailey… he’s contemplatin’ taking his own life, but then he meets a guardian angel that’s tryin’ to get his wings. He’ll get to see what life would be like if he hadn‘t been born at all. It’s my favorite Christmas movie.”

“I’m happy I’m getting to watch it with you, then. We should make this a tradition.” 

“We should. And I’m very happy you’re watching it with me, too.”

Misty feels like her heart is full as she takes in the weight of Cordelia against her, feels the slight tug on her arms so she’ll wrap them around the other woman beneath the cover of the blanket. Misty’s right hand settles on her left hip while the right is caught between both of Cordelia’s, and again she feels fingertips brush against her palm, over the back of it, and then take her hand completely between both of hers.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Cordelia whispers again a few minutes later, once again pulling her thoughts away from the touch and the reaction it’s causing inside of her. She adjusts and turns her head slightly, so that the top of her head rests just beneath Misty’s chin. “Like, if you had to pick just _one_ thing you could have, no limitations at all, what would it be?”

And at these words, Misty rests her chin against the soft hair covering the head fit in the space beneath her own, and feels her eyes slip shut. She pictures what she had two weeks before—Cordelia naked and spread out before her, a crimson ribbon around her wrists (or maybe her stomach—she’s not too picky, but _fuck_ if she doesn’t want to unwrap Cordelia on Christmas morning) and wanting her mouth every each inch of Cordelia’s naked skin.

Yet as Misty feels her face flush with desire, she knows she can’t admit to wanting _that_. So she doesn’t.

“Misty?” Cordelia prods, and she is still whispering but she seems almost out of breath as she repeats herself.

“I don’t want anything. I already have everything I’ve ever wanted. I have a second—or third, I guess, chance at life. I have my tribe, a real  _family,_ ” Misty says. It’s not the complete truth—but every word spoken is true. “I’m the richest man in town.”

“If you’re sure…”

“And just what what is it you want, Miss Cordelia? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word, and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down,” Misty says with a grin, her whispered words overlapping with George’s as he recites them on-screen.

Cordelia shakes with silent laughter, her eyes shining bright as she twists her body slightly so she can look at Misty. She lifts a hand to and touches Misty’s cheek, and then she whispers back and her voice is tight with emotion, “I have everything I want right here.”

_iv._

Growing up, Christmas and the night before it was a busy celebration. There were festivities, and seafood and gumbo, and then there was church. Each year before the family, and the entire community, that had raised her had seen her as something to be destroyed, it had been the same. Fun, food and faith. In that order, never deviating—until they had seen her something foul, something to be destroyed.

So Misty doesn’t know quite what to expect when Christmas Eve arrives—this Christmas with her tribe is her first with them—and she never imagined a Christmas Eve dinner being what it had. She never imagined sitting down to eat with small white boxes Chinese food spread out over the kitchen table. She never imagined that she would talk or laugh so much, or feel such a strong sense of family as as she looked around the table at ugly sweaters and met the eyes of each woman wearing one.

She certainly never imagined her heart would feel so full.

It’s a feeling that comes on suddenly, and it doesn’t leave even after dinner is cleared and nearly everyone has gone their separate ways. It stays with her as she lays beneath the Christmas tree and stares up through the branches, the string lights winding around them catching her full attention. She’s seen the tree dozens of times since it’s placement in the common area, but she doesn’t remember the colorful lights being so bright and beautiful.

“What are you doing?”

“The lights are beautiful from down here, Delia. You should see ‘em.”

There’s a moment of silence and then a soft sigh, and then Cordelia is on the floor beside her. Misty turns her head to look at her, sees her hands come to rest on her stomach. Her hair crowns around her head and—god, she’s fucking breathtaking as the colored lights illuminate her face.

“I haven’t lost it, I promise,” Misty says with a chuckle. 

“No, you were right. They are beautiful,” Cordelia assures her, lips curving upward into a small smile. She turns to meet Misty’s eyes. “Did you have a good night?”

“It ain’t over yet,” Misty tells her. “But yes, I did. I’ve never had a Christmas like this before. It’s really… wonderful. I feel content.” 

“I wish you had been here with us last year,” Cordelia admits, a slight tremble in her voice, and the smile leaves her face. “I really missed you.”

Misty turns onto her side and reaches out, thumb gently brushing away the lone tear that slips from the corner of Cordelia’s eye to fall down her nose.

“Me too, darlin’,” she murmurs, and her hand settles on the warm curve of Cordelia’s cheek. “I would have liked that.”

Cordelia lifts a hand to cover Misty’s, and she squeezes it three times. Then she says, her voice soft yet firm in her request, “Go for a walk with me.”

And Misty only nods, follows Cordelia’s lead as she shimmies out from under the tree and puts on boots and a sweater (and Cordelia doesn’t say anything when Misty puts _her_ oversized sweater on, simply looks at Misty with such warmth that she feels it so strongly, like it’s something she can reach out and physically touch).

Snow is falling as they step outside and walk to the edge of the property, and Misty holds the gate open for Cordelia to pass through before letting it close heavily behind them. 

“Around the block?” Misty asks and Cordelia nods in agreement.

As they begin their slow lap around the block, Misty simply listens to the comments the other woman makes as they pass brightly lit houses that have more Christmas spirit than theirs does.

“I never imagined we’d have another white Christmas,” Cordelia says casually. She says it with such ease, as if she isn’t sliding her fingers through Misty’s, as if she doesn’t feel the tendrils of their magic traveling up her arm to settle in her chest and it—it can’t just be her feeling this.

Can it?

But Misty doesn’t have much time to think on it, because soon enough Cordelia is guiding her back up the path they had taken when they’d left. Yet instead of walking inside, Cordelia stops her on the front porch.

“Thank you for taking a walk with me,” she says softly. “I had a really nice time.”

“Me too. I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime, if you’d be up for that,” Misty says. 

“I certainly would be,” Cordelia confirms. Then, her tone turns thoughtful and she is suddenly glancing upwards, “Huh? What’s this?”

Misty follows her gaze to just above just above where they are standing and her eyes land on a small spring of green forming. She’s more than slightly confused by its appearance.

“Is that... mistletoe?”

“It appears so. Strange, isn’t it?”

And it’s the way she speaks that has Misty drawing her eyes away from the mistletoe, because she can hear the teasing in her words and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it. 

“Cordelia…”

“I don’t know how that got there,” Cordelia counters, and her voice is too casual. “But, I mean, since we _did_ agree to start new traditions… it feels wrong not to adhere to those already in place.”

And— _right._  Tradition.

Tradition calls two to kiss should they find themselves passing beneath it.

The glow from the porch lights illuminate more than Cordelia’s face as she searches it for an answer—her eyes fall on the slight smirk on her lips, the raising of a single eyebrow, and then they meet those staring back at her—they are near-black and the twinkle in her eyes are what makes the decision for Misty.

“Yeah, alright,” Misty breathes out. “I can do that.”

And then she is slowly leaning in and her lips graze soft skin, and she presses them to the round of Cordelia’s warm cheek in a light kiss, and it’s not where she wants her mouth to be, but she isn’t going to take what she wants to based on an assumption.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Cordelia hisses and then she is grasping the front of Misty’s sweater with desperate fingers and she is tugging and— 

Misty falls into her willingly, unable to do anything else as Cordelia kisses her fully while she’s seemingly falling right back into her. And god, she’s imagined kissing Cordelia many times but she never knew it would feel quite like this—where a spark becomes a wildfire, and she sways with the force of it, prays her legs don’t give out beneath her. And then Cordelia’s tongue finds hers, flicks against it playfully before she withdraws to catch her breath.

“Some tradition, huh?” Cordelia breathes out against her lips before she’s kissing her over and over and over, and they’re small kisses that make Misty’s toes curl in her boots. And then they begin to travel over her jaw and to the column of her throat, where they nip and then soothe with a teasing tongue.

“Yes,” is all Misty can muster in response, because Cordelia’s teeth find the spot where neck meets shoulder and her lips follow, and Misty’s ability to think beyond the mouth she’s suddenly realizing is marking her is out the window.

“I have a present to give you,” Cordelia says, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she draws back. She lifts her hand and Misty sighs as a single finger traces what she’s just left on her skin.

“This wasn’t it?” Misty wonders, a small laugh bubbling up as she opens her eyes to meet the dark ones already on her.  
  
“No, although you’re probably gonna have that for a while,” Cordelia says. She bites down almost shyly on her bottom lip at that and god, Misty wants to catch that lip between her own and nibble and suck, but she finds the strength to hold back from doing so. “There’s something else I want to give you.”

“Okay.”

_v._

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Misty hears the door close and the turn of the lock behind her. She stands in the middle of Cordelia’s bedroom and watches as she removes her jacket. Misty kicks her boots off but keeps Cordelia’s sweater on, and then she is swiveling around to stare with wide eyes at the tree standing in the corner of the room. The flick of a switch from somewhere behind her brings the colorful lights decorating the tree to life. A plush rug littered with pillows and a blanket lay just in front of the tree and this is where she makes herself comfortable, her legs crossed in front of her and her hands behind her to hold her up.

“When did you get this?”

Her eyebrows furrow as she considers the tree. She hadn’t even known Cordelia had a personal tree, though she supposes it isn’t something that needed to be announced. Yet her mouth is dry and she licks her lips to regain some moisture, because the sight of the tree—in Cordelia’s _bedroom,_ of all places—is doing things to her that it shouldn’t be. It’s just—it’s just a _tree_ , and it will not become a spectator to Misty’s deepest desires.

“A few weeks ago. You know…” Cordelia answers as she approaches. Misty turns slightly and watches as Cordelia sits on the rug beside her, and she appears to be wearing a thoughtful expression as she meets Misty’s eyes. “You project quite… loudly sometimes. You put your emotions on display and I don’t think you even realize you’re doing it.”

"What do you mean?" Misty manages. She takes in what her friend is wearing—and the god-awful ugly sweater she’s been wearing all night is suddenly more than a sweater, with the red and green squares divided by a gold bow.

“Do you like the tree?”

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t even know you had one in here.”

“I wanted to make this Christmas special for you,” Cordelia admits. “As for your gift... I wanted to give you something meaningful. Something that you would keep with you forever wherever you go.”

“Cordelia…”

“Would you like to unwrap your present now?” Cordelia asks softly with upturned lips.

“Of course,” Misty says, and she drags the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. “Where is it?”

“It’s right here, my love.”

“Uh… _what_ is it?”

“Me.”

“ _Christ_ , Cordelia,” Misty says hoarsely as Cordelia is suddenly straddling her, a knee pressing into the rug on either side of her thighs.

The moment the words leave her mouth, her hands rise to tangle in soft hair and cradle the nape of her neck as she pulls Cordelia in. A hand on her chest keeps her from catching Cordelia’s mouth, but then it is gone and Misty drops her hands to the thighs on either side of hers and her fingers instinctively flex and dig into the material beneath her palms as Cordelia reaches for the hem of her sweater and toys with it.

“I’m not going to do this all by myself,” Cordelia teases. And although her eyes twinkle with mischief, she’s serious as she reaches for the hands on her thighs and lifts them to kiss each palm. “I want _you_ to unwrap me, baby.”

So Misty does. She grabs the sweater and pulls it up and over Cordelia’s head and tosses it to the side, not knowing or caring where it ends up because where the sweater once lay there is now only bare skin and Misty wants to touch, but instead she leans forward to kiss Cordelia deeply. She feels like she can’t get enough of her, even as she places one hand on the small of her back and the other higher up and repositions them so Cordelia is beneath her.

“Oh,” Cordelia breathes against her mouth, eyes falling shut.

Misty slowly closes the space between them, drops her mouth to Cordelia’s cheek and then the other.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asks quietly. “Are you sure you want _me_?”

“I’ve never wanted _anyone_ the way I want you,” Cordelia tells her, voice unwavering as she lifts a hand to place it on Misty’s chest—and Misty swears the wild beating of her heart becomes more chaotic at the touch, that her heart is trying to escape the confines of her chest and jump right into Cordelia’s hands, as if she hasn’t already had her heart from the very beginning. “And I know what you want, I knew it from that very first dream you had. I could see it when I touched you to wake you up, and I want you to have it, all of it, and more. I’m yours to keep, Misty Day, do whatever you’d like with me.”

And  _fuck_ , if the words themselves weren’t enough, the way her eyes grew dark would have spoken volumes as to how she feels. Because words can sometimes be misleading, but Misty can always find the truth in Cordelia’s eyes.

It’s the truth she sees reflected back at her that has her removing her own clothes, then those of the woman beneath her and—yeah, being able to unwrap Cordelia is one hell of a gift, and she plans to give back to Cordelia over and over and over again. She starts with teasing touches, with the pinch of fingers, with her hand full of soft flesh that she feels the urge to nibble on.

“I've wanted this for a very long time,” Misty admits, and then she finally gives in to her urges. Her head dips and she takes a nipple into her mouth, nips lightly at it with her teeth, and the sound Cordelia makes at the action has her soothing it with her tongue. And then she does it again to the other one.

“Oh, _Jesus_ …” Cordelia groans as Misty sits on her knees and touches the inside of her thighs, drags her fingertips up from her knees and over her center to the curls just above where she wants to be. Misty wants to make herself completely at home between Cordelia’s thighs and to never leave.

“I’ve wanted _you_ for a very long time,” Misty says and parts Cordelia’s thighs, and her eyes meet Cordelia’s without wavering. “Can I… I mean—I can really have you?”

“My dearest Misty… I knew you for such a short time, but I’ve loved you _forever_. I’m yours,” Cordelia says, her voice thick with emotion. She bites down on her bottom lip as Misty laughs softly and it’s not mocking, but rather it’s a joyful laugh mingled with a tinge of disbelief and she can’t fully grasp that this is real. Although, as she meets Cordelia’s eyes, she sees only warmth in them, and Misty decides that it all feels a lot like coming home.  
  
Encouraging words begins to fall from Cordelia’s lips, the feel of her naked skin beneath her palms is utterly intoxicating, and the familiar magic reaches out for her—it’s all pulling her in and coaxing her into taking what she’s wanted for so long. Misty shifts to lay on her stomach and looks up over the expanse of skin before her. Cordelia props herself up with her arms outstretched behind her and their eyes meet and Misty—well, there is so much she wants to too Cordelia, but she’s always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. She’s always been better at showing than telling, anyway.  
  
“I love you,” Misty says simply, voice thick with emotion, and then she is dipping her head. She makes contact with Cordelia, a long, slow lick that pulls a sound from somewhere deep inside of the other woman. She keeps her mouth there for several minutes, slowly exploring and dragging her tongue over heated, slick flesh and then draws back only to ask, “Are you in any rush? I’d like to take my time to enjoy this beautiful gift you’ve given me, if you don’t mind.”

And though the thought of going slow drives Misty wild, she knows it must be even more difficult for Cordelia, but she nods her head in consent.

“Take as much time as you want, baby,” she rasps, voice hitching as Misty closes in on her once more. “We have all the time in the world.”

Cordelia lays back on the rug rests her hands above her head, and it’s not lost on Misty that it’s a sign of surrender—and the thought of the mighty supreme, of her best friend, of Cordelia fucking Goode, surrendering to her completely is stoking the flames already burning wildly inside of her. To know that Cordelia is offering herself to Misty leaves her feeling lightheaded.

She doesn’t know how long she explores Cordelia, but she certainly takes pleasure in every second—as she slings an arm over her waist to keep her still, as she slides her tongue inside of her and then, eventually, replaces her tongue with a finger and then two, as Cordelia’s toes curl and she threads her fingers through Misty’s hair and tugs. Hard. And, yeah, it’s more of a turn-on than Misty knew it would be.

“Come on, darlin’. Come for me,” Misty murmurs against heated flesh, and this time she doesn’t withdraw or let her mouth wander elsewhere. She keeps her tongue on Cordelia, curls her fingers in a way she’s already learned will pull the breath right out of Cordelia’s lungs.

Misty places her hand on Cordelia’s stomach as she comes with a drawn-out groan, her back arching and her legs trapping Misty’s head in place. It’s several long moments before they fall to the side and Misty kisses the inside of her thigh before crawling up her body. She holds herself up on her elbows and kisses Cordelia deeply, swallows the sounds she makes as their tongues meet.

“I never thought I’d taste myself on your lips,” Cordelia whispers, hands rising to cup Misty’s cheeks. She pulls Misty down into another kiss, moves her hands to the dip of her waist, she whispers against kiss-swollen lips. “There’s something I want to do for _you_. Sit up.”

Misty sits on her knees again, one on each side of the thighs she just had her face buried between. Cordelia sits up and kisses her deeply, teeth nipping at her bottom lip and tugging, and her tongue flicking against her own and fuck, every stroke of her tongue causes Misty to grind down against heated skin as arousal burns inside of her. Cordelia places a hand on her lower back, her touch firm as her other hand moves between them and she her fingers tease the bundle of nerves between Misty’s legs. A finger on each side of her clit, moving up and down, and as Misty begins to pant, suddenly unable to breathe, those fingers slide down and she is inside of Misty.

And, god, it’s not what she thought it would be. Cordelia inside of her is like wildfire in her veins, it’s feeling so completely filled by her, and it’s the _thump_ _thump_ _thump_ of her heart and the pulse of her magic winding and twisting and becoming so intertwined with Cordelia’s that it leaves her head spinning. And when her fingers move inside of her and her palm presses against her clit, Misty’s hands settle on her shoulder and in her hair and she pulls, hard, and throws her head back as Cordelia once more brings her mouth to the space where neck meets shoulder, next to the mark she’d already left, and she _bites_ and Misty’s orgasm tears through her.

”Fuck, Misty…” Cordelia breathes out as Misty trembles against her, “You are so beautiful.”

She pulls her fingers out of Misty and brings them to her mouth, and the sight of her cleaning them with her tongue makes Misty groan weakly. Cordelia then holds Misty against her with both hands and shifts so they are on their side facing each other, and she flicks a single finger and the blanket that had been shoved aside earlier without either of them noticing is covering them.

“Wow,” Misty murmurs, and her chest vibrates with silent laughter because, yeah, _wow_. She moves the few inches upward to be eye-level with Cordelia and leans forward, kisses her without another word. She doesn’t know what she can say, not after receiving something like this—because it’s not just a dirty fantasy or a wish the eat Cordelia out under the Christmas tree (but god, did she wish for that).

It’s love.

It’s something beautiful she would never have asked for because she was afraid she could never have it, but Cordelia has given it to her willingly and unconditionally.

“I never thought I’d have another Christmas,” Misty murmurs finally, her forehead resting against Cordelia’s. “Just bein’ here was enough for me, and… I guess I was afraid to ask for more. Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve to, like I’m being selfish for wanting anything more than I’ve already been given.”

“You’re not being selfish by asking for more,” Cordelia tells her, and she means it. “I want to give you what you want. I want to give you everything you want and so much more, even if you can’t ask for it. I want to give you all of my love…  I want to give you all of me, body and soul. And I want you to know that you deserve it— _all of it_.”

And there’s nothing that Misty can possibly say. She reaches deep down inside of herself for the magic that she’s been having a hard time with, the same magic that seems to come alive with absolute ease whenever she is near Cordelia, and presses it outward and—

What she wants it to do is cover Cordelia with it, to show her that she hears her and is taking every word to heart even if her words are failing her. And it works, she knows, because Cordelia sighs deeply and her eyes slide shut as her lips curve upward in a smile and she feels the other woman’s magic surrounding around her entirely.

“We’re making this a tradition. The sweaters and food with our girls and any students that decide to stay with us for the holidays—and then just you and me, taking a walk around the block and coming home to _this_.”

There’s the unmistakable smell of pine in the air, and the lights from the tree illuminate their naked skin and she feels as content as Cordelia sounds. The aura Misty feels rolling off of the other woman is a mere confirmation of that. Cordelia is content, like this is everything she’s ever wanted for the two of them.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

And with the way Cordelia kisses Misty and cradles the back of her head as she does so, and the way she shifts to hold her close with hands that are as gentle as they are strong, Misty thinks that this Christmas might have just brought both of them everything they have ever wanted.


End file.
